Tales of a Former Pig in a Wig
by FawkesFeathers123
Summary: Maybe, once upon a time, Dudley Dursley deserved the title of Pig in a Wig; now, seven years later, away from the influences of his horrible parents, he's trying to change. Yes, it's hard work, and no, his overly-doting parents certainly don't make it easy, but perhaps a letter from his cousin after seven years' silence is the perfect place to start.
1. Chapter 1

He was sprawled on the couch in their small flat, the TV volume turned down so it was a low, meaningless hum in the back of Dudley's mind. He hadn't been able to sleep much the night before, so even though he had to go to work soon, here he lay, wrapped in a blanket, staring at the ceiling.

"There's bacon," Penny called from the kitchen. Dudley grunted his acknowledgment and squeezed his eyes shut. A moment later, he felt the chill of the fan overhead as the blanket was pulled from his grasp. "Come on, now," Penny said, her voice considerably closer, "it's like this every morning." Dudley felt blindly for her hand, grabbed it, and pressed it to his face. She snatched away and grabbed his wrist, trying futilely to pull him up. "Up," she said sternly, though he thought she sounded as though she was smiling. He opened his eyes and pushed himself into a sitting position, groaning.

She smiled and bent down to give him a quick kiss. She was, of course, already completely ready to face the day. She wore a crisp white blouse and a dark blue skirt, her long dark hair in perfectly arranged curls, her face a flawless work of art with the make up he knew she applied first thing in the morning.

"I've laid your uniform out on the bed," she said. "Your badge is on the nightstand."

For the first time that morning, Dudley squirmed guiltily. "You didn't need to do that," he said, standing. She smiled and gave him another quick kiss.

"I don't mind." But Dudley did; it was very much the sort of thing his mother would have done—or, more specifically, the sort of thing she would have done for him, but not for Harry.

"There's bacon," Penny said again.

"I'm going to go get dressed," he answered, already turning away from her.

"Hurry! It'll get cold!" she called after him.

Dudley pulled on his uniform as quickly as he could. Though he was not any smaller than he had been as a teenager, he could now proudly say that he was, in fact, more muscle than fat. He carefully pinned his badge to his chest, checking briefly in the mirror to make sure it was straight, before hurriedly pulling on socks and shoving his feet into shoes.

He could remember his parents' faces when he'd announced his new job to them. Proudly, because he'd done it all on his own. It was his, and he wasn't going to be twenty-two years old and still living with his parents anymore, he wasn't going to be spending their money or eating their food. He was going to have his own money and his own flat, however small. His dad had been proud.

"Always knew you'd do good things," he'd boomed. "That's m'boy! Protecting and serving—putting those boxing lessons to good use!"

His mum had burst into tears. "My Diddykins is all grown up!" she'd sobbed, her arms around his neck. "He's risking his life to protect the people! So sweet, so generous!"

He hadn't had the heart to remind them that he was only becoming a security guard because he couldn't get a job as a police officer. He knew it wouldn't have mattered anyway; they only would have told him he was too good for the police, or some other such nonsense. That was just the way they were; only recently had his eyes been opened to it.

"Dudley!" Penny called. Remembering he was supposed to be hurrying, he rushed to tie his shoes.

"Dudley," he heard again, and he could hear her laughing. "Dudley, come look at this!"

"What is it?" he called as he strode into the kitchen. She laughed again, and he followed her line of sight to their fourth story window.

He froze. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears as he stared out the window. She laughed again, not having seen him come in.

"It's an owl," she said unnecessarily. "It has...it looks like it's got a letter."

* * *

**A few things: first, this is much shorter than the other chapters will probably be. Second, I'm American, and I've tried to use British slang and British spellings, but if you see anything in here that is just super American, feel free to let me know and I'll make changes in future chapters. Thirdly, I know where I intend to take this story, but I couldn't say if it will be five chapters or twenty. On a similar note, I have no idea when my next update will be. I may upload three chapters in one day, and then go two weeks with nothing. But I hope you stick with it, and let me know how you liked it! Ciao :)**


	2. Chapter 2

"Isn't that odd, Dudley?" Penny asked, giggling. "I suppose it fancies itself a postman, huh?" She laughed and turned away from the window. Dudley stared at the owl that continued to hover just on the other side of the glass.

"Dudley?" said Penny, seeing his face. "Is everything alright?" No, everything was not alright. He hadn't seen an owl since nearly seven years ago when he and his parents had left number 4 Privet Drive, saying goodbye to Harry for good.

This was not Harry's owl; it was brown, and he remembered that Harry's had been white. Nervously, for not one of the experiences he'd had with owl delivery had boded well for him or his parents, he went to the window and slid it open.

"Wha—Dudley, what—what are you doing?" Penny asked. The owl flew in and landed on the counter and Penny shrieked. "Dudley, why did you—why would you—get it out of here!" She began flapping her hands madly about the owl, evidently hoping it would be frightened into flying back out the window. However, the owl simply dropped the letter on the counter and hooted serenely.

With shaking fingers, Dudley picked up the envelope. It simply said "Dudley Dursley," with no address.

"What're you—oh!" shrieked Penny, for she had seen the name on the envelope. "But how...?" Perplexed not only at the very unexpected turn the morning had taken but at the seeming nonchalance on Dudley's part, Penny turned back to the owl and stared.

Dudley continued to look at his name on the envelope. Harry was the only person he knew who would possibly send him a letter this way, yet there was absolutely no reason he could think of for Harry to be corresponding with him after seven years' silence. Had something happened to him? Was he in the hospital? Was he...dead?

With fumbling fingers, Dudley ripped open the envelope, Penny watching silently, obviously confused, but her eyes also alight with curiosity.

Two pieces of paper—parchment, really—fell out. He picked up the first, and thought he recognized Harry's handwriting, which, after all, he had seen many times on assignments bearing his own name.

_Dudley, _

_Sorry to be sending this by owl, but I don't have an address for you. If you send me your address, I'll never send you an owl again; if you don't, I'll know never to send you anything again. Either's fine. You better send your answer back with this owl, though, as I don't think your postmen will be able to find the Burrow. _

_Harry_

Dudley stared at the letter. It was, he thought, friendly. Hesitant, certainly, but friendly.

"Dudley...?" said Penny quietly. Dudley turned to look at her. She had picked up the other sheet of parchment, and she was holding it slightly away from her, her eyes wide as she stared at it. He walked around to look at it over her shoulder.

_Ginevra Molly Weasley and Harry James Potter request the honour of your presence as they join in marriage on the twenty-seventh of August, two thousand and five at four-thirty p.m. at the Burrow._

Dudley's jaw dropped as he read the text. Married? Harry was getting _married? _This was, though, not what had shocked Penny so; aside from the fact that the shimmering ink was gracefully changing from red to gold and back again, there was a picture in the middle of, yes, his skinny cousin, complete with round glasses and odd scar, and a very pretty redheaded girl. He had his arms wrapped around her, and her head was tilted up to look at him, her long hair rustling in the breeze. As he watched, the girl shifted her gaze from Harry to the camera. She raised a hand and pointed straight out at Dudley, grinning, and Harry's eyes followed her finger and he, too, smiled at the camera. It was as if a TV screen had been glued to the page.

"Dudley," said Penny, her voice shaking slightly. "Why are the people in that picture...moving?" Dudley continued to stare at Harry and the girl—Ginevra Molly Weasley, he supposed. "Who's Harry? Why's he sending _owls_ to deliver mail? 'Your' postmen—what does that mean? What's the Burrow?" Dudley glanced up and saw that Penny now held in her hands the letter from Harry. She was staring at him, eyes wide, completely bewildered.

Dudley sighed heavily. It was not a sound he would have been capable of making seven years ago.

"Penny," he said, rubbing his blond hair with his hand, "I should probably tell you about my cousin."

* * *

Penny had called into the primary school where she taught, informing the principal that she was dealing with a family crisis and would be in later.

And it was true, though it wasn't necessarily a _new_ crisis, and it was certainly the most bizarre crisis she'd ever dealt with.

"So your cousin...was a..._wizard?"_ she asked, trying desperately to understand. He nodded. "And...he lived with you?"

"Until he started at that school, when he was eleven; after that, he was only back for summers." She nodded, looking as though she was very much trying to figure something out—probably, thought Dudley grimly, whether there had been previous signs of his insanity that she should have noticed. She continued to nod, probably not even realising it.

"But, Dudley," she finally said, looking up at him. He gestured for her to go on. "Have...have you _met_ your parents?" He laughed loudly. "They're—"

"The most normal people in the world," he finished. "Yeah, they are. There's a reason I haven't seen him since we were seventeen." Penny nodded again, twirling a curl around her finger, as she often did when she was thinking. Finally, she picked up the invitation again, her eyes fixed on the figures in the moving picture.

"Do you know this girl?" she asked. Dudley shook his head, but he suddenly remembered an afternoon, years ago...voices from the boarded up fireplace...a minor explosion in their living room...two identical, tall, lanky boys with flaming red hair dropping their bag of sweets...the horrifying events that had followed... The boys and their dad had had the same hair as this girl.

"I'm pretty sure I've met her dad and brothers, though," he said gravely, trying to ward off memories of choking on the swollen, slimy _thing_ his tongue had become when he'd swallowed the little candy. Penny set down the invitation and picked up the handwritten note once again, reading it over several more times.

Dudley stood next to her quietly, giving her time to absorb it, extremely grateful that she seemed to be much more open-minded than his parents. After a few moments, she looked back up at him.

"You're going to send him your address, aren't you?" she asked forcefully. She wasn't a year one teacher for nothing, after all.

"Well—er—I hadn't really thought about it, but—er—" She shoved the note back into his hand.

"Well, you're going to the wedding, _aren't you?" _she asked still more forcefully.

"Of course," he said hastily, and it was true, though he hadn't known it until that moment. But of course he would go see his cousin married, the same cousin he had antagonised for years and watched his parents neglect and mistreat in nearly every way possible. And it wasn't just because Harry had saved his life, or because he didn't think Harry was a waste of space; the more he thought about it, the more he realised that...he _missed _Harry.

Penny raced from the room and returned with a pen, paper, and an envelope, and Dudley scribbled a quick confirmation to Harry, including his address at the bottom of the page.

"Oh," said Penny just as he was signing his name. "Don't forget to let him know you're bringing a plus one."

He smiled slightly to himself as he added this in the postscript; Penny was nothing like his parents—but she was, perhaps, exactly what he needed.

When he finished, he shoved the note in the envelope and wrote Harry's name across the front. He then held it out near the owl, unsure of himself. The owl's eyes were big as it watched, almost expectantly.

"You're not holding it close enough," said Penny. Dudley held it slightly nearer and the owl took it in its beak.

"Er," said Dudley, feeling remarkably stupid, "just take that to, er, Harry..."

At that the owl turned and flew out the open window. Dudley and Penny watched in amazement as the owl got smaller and smaller, turning into a speck on the horizon before finally flying out of sight.

* * *

**I'm incredibly happy with the response I've gotten on this in just one day! Thanks to everyone who's favorited and followed (though a few reviews wouldn't hurt, either!). Anyway, I know that this was pretty long considering how little happened, and I'm sorry about that. Don't worry, though, as I promise more good stuff is on the way.**


	3. Chapter 3

_The small, slightly porky, blond boy laughed gleefully as he kicked his football about in the yard. He kicked it toward the fence, then laughed maniacally as he ran to the other side of the yard in time to kick it back._

_As he did so, he made sure to throw his hugest grin at the scrawny, bespectacled boy visible just inside the window, who was pointedly not watching as he squirted the glass with his spray bottle and wiped it down with newspaper. _

_Dudley increased the volume of his laugh, annoyed that Harry seemed to be ignoring him. After all, it was for his benefit; he doubted anyone had ever had as much fun kicking a football by themselves as he was pretending to have just now. _

"_Oh, how much fun you're having, popkin," his mum squealed from her spot on the back patio, where she sat with a glass of lemonade and a magazine on which she hadn't turned a page in over twenty minutes._

"_Going to play for the national team, you are," his dad called from the lawn chair next to her. Dudley's eyes flicked back to Harry in the window, who had paused in wiping the window to adjust the tape on his glasses, and he gave another louder than necessary laugh._

_Harry refused to meet Dudley's eyes as he gathered up his cleaning supplies and heaved them out of sight of the window. Dudley kicked the ball aside, the game no longer fun if he couldn't watch Harry react._

_Moments later, however, to Dudley's immense pleasure, the back door opened and Harry dragged his bucket over to the window to clean the other side. Dudley gave another laugh of maniacal pleasure as he resumed the kicking of the ball, deciding it was much better to have Harry outside, even if he could no longer watch his face. _

_Struck with a sudden stroke of inspiration, Dudley stopped where he was, setting the ball in front of him. He glanced at his parents, both of whom were pretending not to watch him, and grinned. No one would care even if he did get caught, he thought, as he pulled his leg back in preparation._

_He swung his leg forward and as his foot contacted the ball, it soared high into the air straight toward the back of Harry's head. Harry, oblivious, continued his work on the glass._

_Just as the ball was about to hit Harry's head, though, it jerked suddenly to the right, as if knocked out of the way by some unseen force. It flew toward Dudley's parents, flying straight into the little table between them and knocking it over, spilling their drinks everywhere._

_Dudley gasped and scuttled backward, completely bewildered. Harry, having heard the clatter, whirled around and was staring at the mess with wide eyes. Dudley's dad spluttered and stammered as he wiped lemonade out of his eyes, but his mum was glaring at Harry._

"_I didn't do it," Harry said blankly as Dudley's mum continued to glare at him. _

"_He did!" Dudley shouted, pointing a chubby finger in his direction. His eyes widened. "He made it fly with his _mind."

"_No I didn't!" Harry insisted. "I didn't even see it!"_

"_He did, he did, I saw him!" Dudley cried. His mum was no longer glaring at Harry; she looked rather terrified. _

"_Clean this bloody mess up, boy!" his dad shouted, and Harry obediently began to scramble over with his bucket._

"_No," his mum whispered suddenly, and Harry, Dudley, and his dad all turned to her, shocked. "No," she said again. She grabbed Harry's wrist and thrust him in the direction of the back door. "Get to your cupboard," she said, though it still sounded as though she was whispering. Harry nodded, eyes wide, and hauled his bucket inside before heading straight to the cupboard under the stairs._

_Dudley's mum wrapped her arms around his shoulders. _

"_Why don't you go inside and watch the telly, popkin. Mummy and Daddy need to talk."_

* * *

Dudley woke with a start. "Dudley!" Penny called from the other room. "Phone for you!" She hadn't known he'd been asleep, but he was thankful nevertheless for having been awoken.

He was still wearing his uniform, now horribly wrinkled, and the badge pinned to his shirt dug painfully into his chest. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stumbled into the living room, where Penny sat on the sofa, a stack of children's drawings of what seemed to be trees spread before her, holding the phone out to him.

"Oh, were you sleeping?" she asked, eyebrows crinkling with concern.

"It's fine," he grunted. He reached for the phone.

"It's your mum," she informed him as he took it. He nodded to show he'd heard, and then pulled the phone up to his face.

"Mum," he said by way of greeting.

"Hello, sweetums," she said brightly. "How was your day?"

"I escorted a madman from the premises," said Dudley. This was not an uncommon occurrence, but somehow he thought telling her that he had agreed to go to Harry's wedding—not to mention sent his response with an owl—was not what she wanted to hear.

"Oh, Dudders!" she exclaimed. "Are you alright? Did you get hurt? Oh, my Diddykins! Is Penny taking care of—"

"I'm fine," he said quickly before she could start in on Penny again. One of her favourite things to complain about was how Penny didn't take good enough care of him. "He wasn't violent, just mad."

"Are you sure? Now, make sure Penny makes you a nice good dinner, because you have to—"

"I'm fine," Dudley said again quickly. "She's got chicken in the oven," he lied. He glanced at her and saw her looking at him, smirking. She knew his mum didn't like her.

"Good, that's good." There was a silence, and when his mum spoke again, her voice was unnaturally high.

"I—I got a letter today." Dudley exhaled slowly. So his parents had been invited, too. Had an owl delivered their letter, as well? He could just imagine the looks on their faces—his dad's especially—when the owl had appeared. His mother would have screamed, probably. His dad would have turned purple, would have tried to shoo the owl away as Penny had. Would they have read the letter? What would Harry even have to say to them? Dudley considered for a moment how he should respond.

"So did I," he finally said. Penny had noticed his change in tone and was watching intently. "I'm going to go."

He wasn't sure what his mum would think of that. Would she be angry? No, she had never been angry at him in his life. Would she try to persuade him not to go? And then another thought occurred to him; would she succeed? If she reminded him of when the giant had given him a pig's tail and he'd had to have surgery, or the time Harry had bewitched a flying cake to land on his father's client's head, or of the time Harry had inflated Aunt Marge like a balloon, or of the time Harry's future bride's father had exploded the living room and her brothers had made his tongue so large he couldn't breathe, or of the dementors, or of the strange old man who had brought with him the most bizarre, disgusting old creature he had ever seen, would Dudley be inclined to change his mind?

He waited, and after a moment, she spoke quite calmly.

"Vernon nearly murdered the bird." This was not altogether surprising news. "He doesn't want to go." Dudley was unsure what to say to this, so he remained silent.

"So you're going," she repeated.

"It's been seven years," said Dudley. He wasn't sure what his point was: that there had been time to sort out any animosity remaining between them? That they had left him alone for too long?

"Yes, it has," sighed his mum. There was a moment of awkward silence—the first between them he could remember—before she spoke again, so quiet she was nearly inaudible. "Lily would murder me."

Dudley froze. He could remember his mother mentioning his aunt exactly three times, and one of those times she had been shrieking at a giant with an umbrella that Lily'd been a know-it-all freak.

"You should go," she said only slightly louder. Dudley let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.

"Are you?" he asked, feeling as though he already knew the answer. Guilty she may feel, but his mum would follow his dad to the ends of the earth in search of normalcy.

"I'm not," she said. There was a long silence.

"Well," said Dudley, "Penny's chicken is nearly ready. I should go wash up." He waited for her to say good-bye, possibly tell him to make sure he got enough to eat.

"His eyes," she said suddenly, as though she'd been bursting to say this but trying not to. "His eyes look like hers." She sighed, sounding sadder than he'd ever heard her. "I've always thought that."

Dudley wrestled with himself for a moment before saying, "You should tell him that."

She whispered something he couldn't properly hear. He thought she may have said, "I tried."

"Well, go enjoy your chicken, Diddykins," she said, brightening up. "Make sure Penny gives you a nice big plateful."

"I will," he said. "'Night, Mum"

* * *

**It's possible that one or both of the Dursleys are OOC here, but I tend to think not; I think they both have more civilized, even sentimental, sides, but I also think Petunia is very weak (if she had attended Hogwarts, she would not have been a Gryffindor with her sister) despite her obvious feelings of guilt. Anyway, this was a very interesting conversation to write, and I hope you enjoyed it. (Also, in my first chapter I referred to a television as a TV, unaware that this was an American nickname. I hope I've redeemed myself with the use of "the telly" in this chapter)**


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